Key to Hope
by Starzy12
Summary: Locks Hunter is lost, and doesn't seem to want to be found. Peter is mischievous and all he wants is to go home. Based off of Syfy's Neverland and all the books. Prequel to classic tale. OC/Peter
1. 1 Bad Days and Eventful Nights

**HIYA! This story is based off multiple peter pan novels and concepts. I'm basing the first part of my sotry off of Syfy's Neverland Miniseries since I loved it so much! This is a Peter/OC fic, and this is not a mary sue! There are dark themes in this story. I may change rating if people want!**

The most horrid day in Peter's life, just happened to overlap with the day his life would change forever. His awful day had consisted of numerous failed pickpocket attempts and three brutal beatings by the prey. The young boy was now sporting a series of large, cane width bruises down his arm, and a small slit near his color bone, which an old lady had carved with her fingernail. The ugliness of the wounds did not upset him for he took pride in his injuries and knew he wasn't **_just_** half decent looking. They just made movement near impossible.

The day had stripped him clear of all energy and any shred of positive emotion and respect towards his mate's success in their own gathering.

With his white colored shirt, buttoned a little too high on his neck, and arms that did not sway smoothly by his side, he entered his humble looking home.  
Climbing down one long flight of stairs into the old buildings cryptic basement the air turned moist and cold and the old staircase's railing turned rough and splintered.

"Aye' Pete throw the goods into the pile there!" Fox said, playing football with himself, "A girl dropped her pocket watch today. Solid bronze. Will Jimmy think it's worth something or should I keep it?". Peter didn't even glance at the watch fox was pointing too. He shrugged off his coat and curled up into his cot, his shoes and hat still on.

Curly and Tousles' chess game scraped the board with sounds like thunder, and the fencing men upstairs' heeled shoes stomped against the oak floor boards. Peter's brain seemed to have a second heart beat it was throbbing so much, and Fox's soccer ball was echoing down into Peter's stomach. He would have thrown up if he had eaten at all that day, or maybe he would have screamed if his throat wasn't so hoarse. He may have even cried if he wasn't among his mates, or if he wasn't sixteen, or if he wasn't the called best pickpocket on the West End by his guardian Jimmy.

But, Lord did he **_hurt_****.**

"Pete?"  
The drained boy looked up into Fox's innocent blue eyes.

"You alright there mate?"  
Peter's pale face disappeared into his pillow, leaving a tassel of strikingly dark hair ageist his weak pale form.

"Bad day?" Curly asked from his chess table.  
Peter nodded into his pillow, the cool, soft fabric comfortably soothing his red nose and eyes.

"Anything?" Tousles' asked with a condescending tone. Fox smacked him in the arm.  
Peters voice rasped like a snake, "Nope"

Curly, Tousles, Fox, and the Twins knew better than to press for information. Although their good friend was the witty, funny, and mischievous one in the group, he could also become the biggest emotional train wreck when he was provoked. Peter didn't sleep, just stared out the ice spotted window and into the dull grey London streets. Across the damp, charcoal cobblestone road, he spotted the new antique Shoppe, _Charlotte's Wares_, where an older man and his son displayed gold lamps, silver threaded rugs and jewel encrusted locks. Jimmy had broken into that shop many times, returning home with diamond clocks and other extravagant items. The store was so famous and the items were so familiar that Jimmy had to sell them three towns over and for half the price. Soon enough the effort was too great for a man with six boys at home, two of them becoming young men.

The store owner's security had decreased after a couple years of peace. It would have been too easy to break back in. The obnoxiously rich family would never suspect their biggest threats lives right across the road.  
Concentrating on the intricate, rich, details in the store window made Peter's mind feel at ease. Having something less painful to concentrate on made the world quiet again, and his friends activities less annoying. He swapped Jimmy's disappointment for fantasies of a king's treasury and a diamond draped queen at the ruler's side.  
He was so lost in his day dream he almost ruined his pants when Jimmy lightly gripped his left shoulder. Peter's eyes went from drooping lazily to wide and aware so fast it was as if he had quickly resurrected into some doe.  
"Peter" the middle aged man sighed. The shallow crevices in his forehead pulled downwards. "I expect more from you. These boys look up to you and your blabbering mouth"  
Peter sunk deeper into the mattress, and pictured hell itself under his cot, sending tendrils of fire to form hands and strangle him in his sleep.

Neither said anything else, for they both knew the boy was over worked from his nights awake, snatching wallets from people who left expensive parties a little too early. They both also knew they would most likely perish without their best thief. Jimmy wouldn't be able to pick up Peter's slack, his fencing tutoring schedule kept him way too busy to do petty things like pickpocket anymore. Teaching over priced, expert sword lessons would do though.

Peter didn't eat food that night; for he did not think he could stomach it and keep it down. At 11 o'clock in the evening, where the sky was black and all the boys shivering in their thin cots, did Peter feel most disgusted. He looked at the sweet faces of twins Brady and Connor, cherry cheeked in their sleep and fourteen years old, and stared at the small youthful freckles on Tousles' muscled arms. He gazed with sorrow at Fox and Curly's relaxed, angular brows.  
He had failed these men, yet they slept like the dead they were so peaceful. Jimmy was right; they deserved all the money in the world and Peter's usual success.  
Peter may resent that day all his life, when he let down his family, but deep down he would know that was the day his life truly turned for the better. He knew his awful failure must have been meant to be, meant to keep him up all night in guilt. For, if Peter wasn't guilt ridden past the cycle of sleep, he would not have heard the scream.  
The shrill, terrified, scream from a death set teenage girl.

The playful squeals and screams of the local girls Peter had stared at years ago, were always loud and meant to call attention. Of course when you hear a scream so playful and loud, no one comes to the rescue. This scream was not playful, nor was it remotely loud. If Peter had not been so on edge that night he would have never heard the girls meek, terrified, suppressed pleas.  
**_"Get away from me!"_**  
Peter's back was pulled taught, all the muscles in his lower stomach clenched and burned with an acidic feeling.

_Vomit._  
He didn't need to be there to know was going on outside his window. He could almost hear the harsh tearing of fabric between two rough hands, with dirt cakes in between the attacker's finger nails. Peter could practically hear the _clink_of metal buttons hitting the street. Suddenly, as if a gust of wind had swept him into the air, he was tearing up the stairs to the front door, not bothering to skip over the creaking floor boards. All there was in the world was Peter's two running feet, burning holes in his socks, and the girl lying in the middle of the street.

Four out of five cots were occupied in the cold and damp makeshift home. The air was still and cool enough to numb their skin and mind away from daily unpleasentrys. The inconstant creaking from Jimmy's brass bed across the hall had ceased, signaling sleeping was now the only thing on the adgenda.  
Suddenly a pair of quick feet began to beat and bruise the old wooden staircase, letting thin splinters fly away with the dust and air. Curly, the wide hipped boy with the shaggy black hair, violently rose to a sitting position. He wiped the fog from his eyes and inspected the room. There was a high pitched wheezing from upstairs, almost like crying. Had someone entered the building?  
"Petey?" Curly whined in his sleepy stupor, " Is someone crying?"  
No one answered.  
"Peter?"  
"Shut 'ya trap!" Tousles scolded. The twins stirred and unwound themselves from one another."Where's Peter?" they asked in sync.  
"I don't kn-"  
"Shush" Fox hissed.  
Curly scowled, "Fox, wher-"  
"Just shut up and listen!"  
Fox grasped the thin blanket around him and swathed himself in what little heat they held in them. He awkwardly switched his arms around so he could slip his shoes on without letting the blanket fall.  
"Someone's crying" the other twin said quietly.  
"No" Fox said. He walked towards the foot of the stairs. He paused next to Jimmy's coat rack, slipping his hand into Jimmy's rucksack to pull out a short knife with thick, angry teeth.

"Someone's screaming"

The boys tip-toed up the ancient staircase and into the small lobby of the building, connected to Jimmy's sword classroom. The room was set as a mirror image. Two blue couches stood against facing falls next to a wooden table and desk lamp, the two scenes meeting symmetrically in the center by the white outside door, which was swaying open on its hinges.  
Jimmy was already there, sitting on one couch, his body parallel to the back cushion. Peter was next to him, fisting the couch material in his hands.  
Tousles took a step in front of the other boys. "Jim? What is goin' on?"  
Jimmy didn't look at him; he nodded his head toward the other side of the room.

There were tiny drops of blood dotting the floor in a trail pattern from the couch to outdoors, leading to a figure under a large orange blanket where a large red stain was placed between the bodies legs.

Connor fell to his knees and let tears run down his face freely, his brother buried his face into a swaying Curly's arm. 's throat went dry and had to focus on Jimmy's blank face to keep the bile in his throat down. Tousles only gasped, and found his legs shake underneath him.

Every one of these boy has seen a mangled body before, some of them their own parents, but none of them had ever seen anything like this.

"Was she stabbed?" Brady asked, releasing Curly's arm.

Peter's voice had been suppressed somewhere underneath his horror. Jimmy had not yet had a look at the body, but just like Peter did he knew what had happened.

"Yes, Brady", Jimmy said, "The girl was stabbed in the pelvis"

Fox cringed at the lie but found his own words, "Is she alive?"

Peter's back slowly gained slack and he hunched forward.

"Yes"

"Take this" Curly muttered, taking a thick handkerchief out of his pocket. Jimmy took it from him quickly and crossed the space between the girl with dark matted hair and us. He placed the kerchief under her dress, most likely between her legs.

"She will be better in the morning" The older man stated, leading the boys out of the lobby. All except Peter.


	2. Run Away Home

The horrid evening bled into the next day, when the boys couldn't take their eyes off the mysterious girl who was now living with them. Well, the word "living" **was** a bit of a loose interpretation. The girl was as quiet and motionless as Peter was feisty and mischievous. It set a perfect balance to their crazy mixed up lives just by having a comforting presence to be near. It was as if the boys were holding their breath, waiting for the girl to just wake up so the scale could tip towards crazy again. Peter didn't mind the change though, in fact it made him feel better knowing his injuries the other day were nothing compared to what could have happened to him. There was proof lying less than two feet away.

Like corpse her arms crossed over her chest and her neck was slightly white making a disturbed shiver run down Peter's spine. Her lips had been chapped from the cold and she was still shivering underneath the four blankets the boys had sacrificed from their cots. Sometimes it was as if she really was dead, and Tootles often found himself panicking over the possibility of having to bury someone so young again.

It seemed that the mystery girl would remain this way for a long time, considering she had some serious blood loss and the possibility of having a concussion. The parts of her body that did show underneath the blankets were not easy to look at, but there was signs of life and beauty in her form. Under the discoloration and swelling of her soft body Peter could make out a smooth and gentle jaw line and a heart shaped face. Her eyebrows were thick and gently curved above two pale pink eyelids and an elfin nose; just oh-so-slightly turned up at the tip. She was pretty, and the green dress she once wore, now sporting wide shreds and stains, must have made her look even prettier before she was man handled.

In the process of wiping down the girls exposed skin, Peter noticed she did not wear a corset, and her neck and wrists were bare of jewelry. Obviously, she was lower class, just like him. For some reason that made Peter smile, though he would have cared for her the same if she was the Princess of the Atlantic Ocean. Also by knowing she was somewhat like himself was also terrifying. This era was not kind to women, even women of high class like the Queen. Bad men often came after girls Peter's age, and the fact this one had the same existing struggles as Peter on top of being lesser, made him crazy with worry. Peter's own mother was dead; possibly she had been knocking on the same door as the girl in front of him had. Were there more girls like this one?

Jimmy had to move her downstairs and into the cryptic basement in order to carry on with his classes, which made Peter feel better knowing she was out of sight. The boys took turns watching her, making sure someone would be there when she woke up. The matter that she _**would**_ wake up was still a mystery though, since Jimmy couldn't splurge for a doctor. Money was an issue now that the boys were set on the strict schedule that Fox made to compensate for fewer workers; although nothing could compensate for Curly's lazy butt. Brady and Connor had started to sleep outside in old, ripped, clothing with tin cans sitting in front of them. Peter forbade them to beg for cash or to speak at all while outside, making the ordeal to extract guilt more of an experiment rather than a scam. Things seemed to stay upright and balanced on the newly rocky road, and as the month ended the girl began to change in appearance.  
Curly pointed out the blue bruises on her body starting to fade, and some pink returning to her cheeks. Brady and Connor held the girl's hands every night, for her fingers had new warmth to them. Sometimes she even squeezed their fingers back.  
"You boys want to come upstairs for supper?" Jimmy would ask every night.  
"No thanks" Collin muttered, playing with the girl's fingers.  
"Brady?" Jimmy prompted.  
"Can you bring it down here?" Collin asked, attempting to braid a small section of her hair like she was some porcelain doll. Peter had done the same thing with her, pampering and force feeding like a little girl does with a baby doll.

Jimmy did what he was asked with an annoyed grumble and scowl, the things Peter now received every night before he went to bed, which was propped up against the maiden.

In a way the girl was already part of the family, although no one even knew her name. They boys looked at her with some kind of admiration every time they were in the same room. They seemed to be questioning her life with wonder and thanks. Fox started talking to himself again on his walks, "_Why is she here? Why do I care?_"

The familiar concept of the boys' makeshift family came to mind whenever she popped into one's consciousness.

"_It's like she belongs here. It's like she needs us"._

But what if that wasn't true? What if the young lads were just fantasizing of having another mother?  
Peter started to think about the girl's own family, and if she had something to go home to every night. Did she come home to a house full of open armed brothers and sisters and a beautiful mother? Did she have a protective father that would burn Peter alive if he knew just how close Peter felt to her?

Peter stayed up at night, thinking about the day she would leave them. It didn't matter to him that he did not know what color eyes she had or something as simple as her name.

"I'm not here because you are sick or because I feel sorry for ya" he whispered to her one morning after one of his nightmares, "It's because we need a softer hand to spank us every once in a while"  
He leaned in and kissed her cheek.  
"They love you already, you know" he stroked her hair and watched her eyes flutter underneath their pale pink lids, "Who knows? Maybe one day you will love us back".  
The muscles in the girl's face tightened, her eyebrows scrunched and pressed together.  
The universal face of confusion.

Peter's eyes zeroed in on that crease in her brow, wondering if she had really heard him.

"Can you hear me?"  
A dry, cracking groan erupted from her throat, and she rolled onto her side, facing the voice that was coaxing her.

"Jimmy!" the boy screamed, dropping the bowl his cup of water to the floor with a flourish. His feet tore up the steps and he burst into Jimmy's classroom.  
"Jimmy! It's happening!"  
Peter didn't even wait for an answer before her took off outside to round the nearest corner to where the Twins were stationed. He barely got the words _"wake"_ and _"girl" _our through his pants. The boys immediately stood and took off to find the other boys, while Peter ran with wheezing breath back to the girl. Back home.


	3. Breathing with Caution

**Thank you so much for reading! I will not stop writing; in fact I have many chapters written all ready. It just takes me time to upload them. **

**I want you to know I write for myself, and I will never ask you guys to review or favorite or alert. I believe my writing should stand on its own. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but never enforced. I'm very happy with this story and I hope you are too!**

Peter tripped on the first step and fell down the remaining twenty. His left foot stretched and an excruciating angle and to slap the back of his head and let the breath escape from his lungs. The old, bluing bruises on his back moaned in agony at hitting the tough wood. Peter did not feel the pain though; all he felt was the anxiety and a rush of elated nerves run down his spine. He didn't even bed down to pick up his hat.

A thick, calloused hand reached out and steadied him hastily, quickly brushing the dirt off his shoulders and replacing the hat on his head violently.  
Jimmy stepped away from a disheveled Peter and nervously glanced at the couch behind him.  
"Behold" Jimmy muttered in a sharp tongue, " The ever-so-graceful, Peter!"

The boy felt his cheeks go red and his hands curl into fists, just to be immediately relaxed. He looked around the room embarrassed for a quick second before he caught the sight of her.

Two warm brown eyes stared into Peter's hazel green. Immediately a pleasant, burning, warmth ran down his spine. His palms went hot and moist and Peter was positive it wasn't from the run.

he stared in shock, for she was sitting up straight all on her own. Peter noticed just how long her hair was. Just a couple inches short from the crease of her elbow.

"Hello" Peter croaked out. He was suddenly grateful for Jimmy straitening him before he met her.

"Peter is the one that found you" Jimmy muttered softly.

Jimmy _never_ spoke softly.

"None of us here will hurt you, we just want you to be safe after all that has happened".

Peter would have said something, anything even, if he could just release the tight muscles in his jaw.

"I know"  
Her voice was raspy with disuse. It sounded like the way a child speaks before crying, but she said it with a content yet wary expression.  
"I could hear you", she explained.

Her face went red, like she had stumbled into some privet affair she was not supposed to see. In retrospect she had the right to feel that way, Peter supposed. Those self realizations those boys had holding her hands were intimate in a way she couldn't understand.

"There are other boys living here too. We have all been helping you" Jimmy said

As if on cue the basement door burst open and down came the crew, all red-faced and sweaty. Peter prayed that he didn't look that pathetic on his arrival. Curly's hair was swept vertical by the wind, making his hair look like it had been pressed by an iron.

The girl suppressed a snicker at the look of Tootles face. Perhaps he had never been this close to a girl before, or at least not a pretty one.

"Hello" she said politely to the crowd, not in the least bit embarrassed by her state. If she wasn't in only her undergarments she would have outstretched her hand, but she was afraid the blanket resting on her torso would slip.

"Hi" Brady said with a wide smile on his young face.

She smiled back, her face so warm and full of life it could have fogged up the windows. Underneath her healthy pink cheeks was a cold darkness that reflected in her eyes and parted mouth. Her eyes did not smile along with her lips. All the boys wanted was to step closer and hug her, but it was under very odd circumstances that they were now only meeting for the first time. It seemed wrong to introduce yourself first.  
Fox rolled his eyes at the silence of the room. He was always labeled the friendliest one of the group, and therefore always ended up being the first to break the ice.  
"I'm Fox" he said kindly.  
Her face flashed with recognition, "I think I knew that, your voice is familiar"

Peter could feel his eyes widen suddenly. The horror. She had heard Peter talk of family and love, not just moments before she woke up.  
Jimmy must have noticed his horrified expression. "Pete?", he asked  
Peter snapped back into focus, "Yes?"  
"Can you go upstairs in the attic to find something for... um... her to wear?"  
Peter nodded his head robotically and turned to leave on the balls on his feet.

He was not yet out of earshot before he heard the girl announce her name.  
"So lass, what's ye' name?" Tootles asked  
"Locks...My name is Locks"

A silent smile graced his lips. It was an unusual name, but it suited her. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

The attic was almost as cold as the basement, and twice as rickety and old. The top of the building was just a mess of a wooden structure limbs with piles of junk scattered around. Jimmy had an old wardrobe in the back where Peter used to hide every time the gang played hide and seek. Of course, he always won sitting in that ominous cameo flogged box. He remembered a couple of old dresses hanging in there that were soft to the touch and held rotting candy in the pockets.

Peter brought down a light pink dress that had little fabric roses on the long sleeves. It was a peasants dress, not meant to have a wire skirt or corset underneath, and had a collar up to the chin, marking it as out of style, but somehow he knew she wouldn't mind.  
She marveled at the softness and appeal of the fabric for hours, and Peter watched her from the corner of his eye, just as long.  
She had looked so beautiful and soft and fragile in that dress that she could have been painted on the crystal vases in the antique shop across the street. Peter wouldn't mind breaking in to steal that.  
Yet, the lightness from her waking was short lived, for Fox decided to do an investigation on her attacker.

"Do you remember what he looked like?" he asked, gripping a pen and pad of paper like a journalist

"No. He came from b-behind me" she said quietly. Her voice broke and Brady grabbed her shaking hand and Connor grasped the skirt of her dress.

"Why we're you out so late?" Fox asked, this time a little softer, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"I think I was walking home I think. I don't remember the night entirely because I was crying as I walked. Maybe he h-heard me and followed m-me"

"What were you crying about?"

Her face went grave and still, "My friend is sick. I went to say goodbye"

"Oh", it was a stupid question to ask. Fox's cheeks went scarlet.

"Do you have anywhere else to stay?" Jimmy asked.

"No. My family has been dead for years. I've been living in a church basement"

It was so perfect Peter couldn't help the burst of words from escaping his mouth.  
"You can stay with us! We are better than a Church basement!"

Even though that wasn't entirely true, for a basement is still a basement, but every one's eyes lit up. The boy's woes of approval escaped their tight lips as well: "Yes! We didn't have anywhere to go either!";  
"You could help Tootles talk to girls"; "Oh! And teach Fox how to walk in heeled shoes!"

Locks giggled and the sound even softened Fox's intense face.

"There is another cot hidden around here somewhere" Jimmy grumbled.

Locks smiled, it made Peter's stomach knot with warmth.  
"That sounds wonderful" she exhaled, "I've never had brothers before"

_

Locks found her place in the boy's home quite quickly. She set up her cot on the other side of the room only moments after being offered the space. She folded her borrowed dresses with rags stacked between so they wouldn't gather dust or moths. She placed a lumpy washcloth under her pillow with a coy smile. No one questioned the odd tradition in fear of offending the young lady. She had no shoes, but her dresses were too big for her so it touched the ground. She didn't remember if she had been wearing shoes that day when she was crying, so no one looked for them, and Peter fished out a pair of black women's shoes from the wardrobe. When it was time to sleep Locks removed her dress under her covers and stayed still in her sleep to keep herself covered. In case anyone was tempted to look, Jimmy insisted her space be set up on the other side of the room, too far to peep at.

Peter's sleep lacked his usual nightmares and visions. The old fantasies of rich queens ceased and were replaced with visions of a blurry, youthful, depiction of his mother; swirling around in a pink, peasant dress. On her arm was a man of grace, with quick footwork like Jimmy's and a coy smile, the same smile Peter wore when we woke every morning.


	4. Secret Scams

Peter was not an artistic soul. A paintbrush didn't sit right in his palm and he could barely print his name without snapping the pen in half.  
He did attempt to sketch, though. His renewed thinking of his deceased mother put him into a drawling frenzy. During his picking route he kept a couple scraps of paper and some black-chalk-like stuff he had swiped from a street artist. The stuff smudged his hands and cheeks and left a black stain everywhere he touched.  
Locks tried to help him clean up when he came home, but he denied her, slightly embarrassed by his lack of excuses of how he got so dirty. She was always eager to do something to help and stay busy, since she was stuck in the basement all day. He already felt bad enough refusing her, he didn't want to mar and stain the borrowed pristine clothing that she had so little of.  
Lock's was under the impression that all the boys were working alongside Jimmy during his sparring classes, so she wasn't surprised when they came home with dust on their cloths, red in their cheeks, and sweat on their brows from running from the police. They didn't feed her the lie, just played along with it. The word "thief" was still hard for the lads to admit, and the thought of loosing Locks' trust unnerved them all.  
Previously the wares Jimmy and his crew had collected would just sit in a huge pile on the center table of their room; now the coins and trinkets were hidden in a large desk in the attic to prevent suspicion from Locks. There were no more piles of shiny merchandise stacked precariously on the rickety chess table, which was an odd change. Without the occasional flickering of stolen gold to boost their pride, the boys finally noticed just how poorly they lived without all the goods covering their mess.

The attic became the boy's secret at night when Locks was asleep, where they would hold meetings and game plan strategies.

The attic also became Peter's secret drawing studio to use when everyone else was asleep. As stuffy and uncomfortable as it was, it was easy to be alone with his drawings there in the quiet dark. Also, by drawing in the dark, and not in the middle of the street while picking, he didn't notice as many flaws with his work.

One night his lacking of drawing technique got to him anyway. He ripped the sketch of his mother down the middle, his breaths turning heavy and his hands starting to shake. He could feel the hot angry tears swirling behind his eyes and his face turn red.  
The long stick of charcoal snapped in his white knuckled fists and sliced the skin of his palm. With his black and bloodied hands he wiped at his eyes, which came away wet and slimy. Fragments of paper littered the floor and speckled the dark with it's the reflecting moonlight.  
"Dammit" he managed to scream in a voice just above a whisper.

God, why couldn't he translate it! If he couldn't draw his dreams than he'd eventually forget them, his mother's would fade along with them.

"P-Peter?", a soft voice stuttered from the attic thresh hold, "Peter it's s-so cold. Why ar-rn't you in bed?"

"Locks? Is that you?" Peter said in a shaky, course with tears voice.

"Yes. Peter what are y-you doing here? It's the middle of winter and you're here without a quilt!"  
Her outline stood out from the dark, her cheek bones, nose, and forehead just visible with the moon light. She was wearing the thin shift that she was wearing the day she arrived, cut slightly shorter since the bottom had been turn red and shredded.

"I'm just... I was just thinking" he muttered, gathering the scraps of parchment so he could stuff them inside a cushion.  
"Are you ok? You look... upset".

A chuckle escaped his lips. Oh he definitely looked worse than just upset. Here he was, a sixteen year old boy , with tears in his eyes and black and red streaks across his face, blubbering over a drawing. He was so pathetic, she was going to laugh at him tomorrow with Curly and Jimmy. The latter would strike him in the head for being so weak.

"I'm alright" he said in the clearest voice he could muster. He turned away to hide his face, but he was still partly visible.

"You are crying"  
It wasn't a question, and he knew he was exposed.

She hesitantly walked over to his crumpled figure and kneeled down to his level. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him.  
He snatched it from her hands are wiped away the grime and blood, taking some skin with it.

"Just leave" he snapped. She flinched from his tone, but didn't move from him.

"I never thanked you for saving me" she whispered, "You didn't leave me in the middle of the road, so I'm not going to leave now"

She reached for his hand but he tore it away. Locks memory went to those of her deceased family members in France, the little cousins, always so stubborn, refusing to get help.  
"Peter, how old are you?" she asked out of the blue.  
"Sixteen" He answered in monotone.  
He could feel her smile.  
"I'm sixteen as well, and a few tears won't make you any younger"

The sound of paper rubbing together came from her direction. Her long, fingers outlined the woman's chin, the only thing defined under all his smudges. The woman was young, but clearly older than Locks. Her eyes were wide and smiling and her cheek bones high and smooth.  
"Is this your mother?"

"No" his voice was unconvincing, "I'm... Um... No the best artist"

"It has promise. Let me try?"  
She held out her hand expectantly. Peter turned to look at her face on, and dropped the broken fragments of charcoal into her hand.  
Locks placed the drawling on her knees and hunched over the unfinished picture. A detailed face appeared from Peter's scribbles, complete with two wide, smiling, _**sparkling**_ eyes.  
"That's her face", his voice was soft with shock. "How did you do that?"

She shrugged, completing a perfect portrait of his mother from neck to hairline.  
"If you keep drawling her, I'll be able to interpret it. Maybe one day you will have a full picture".

The air around the sweet girl suddenly cracked with energy. Peter felt himself being drawn closer to it, moved to insanity by her impossible suggestion.

Peter wanted to kiss her, _**badly**_, but he settled for pecking her cheek. Her soft skin singed his rough lips, and her scent of honey and vanilla kept him in close proximity, and in a shaky voice he said a quick, "Thank you".  
Her eyes turned to meet his, and her smile made his cheeks catch flame. Her stutter from the cold air was gone, and she found herself no longer shivering.

"I don't do much in this house" she started, "You boys will not let me go anywhere and there isn't anything outside where I would feel safe. I stay in this house and do stupid, forgetful, womanly duties. Let me do this for you and it will make me feel like I'm giving back. I owe you, Pete".

Peter couldn't respond.

Locks went back to bed a couple minutes later. Leaving Peter with a near perfect picture of his mother.  
It was straight out of his head, and the picture made him flush with happiness. He fell asleep that night with the picture under his pillow, folded to keep the charcoal from smudging. His eyes didn't close for a long time, for they were too focused on watching the miracle girl sleep on the other side of the room.

_"I owe you" she had said_.

His secret response : "I may love you".

—-

Peter jumped back into the crime business with more vigor than ever. The next day Peter was the first one out the door. He was going to do some of his best work and bring back some heavy material, he decided, as if it was something he could completely control. With his panpipes in hand, he sat on a street corner and played his favorite tunes to draw his victims near. They dropped money by his feet unintentionally revealing where there money was stored on their person. Pete would play a certain tune to signal Tootles and Connor who were waiting to "bump" into them around the corner.  
They couldn't do their jobs near the house though. Locks would catch them and ask what they were doing. Jimmy would skin them alive of that happened.

The scheme went well, and Peter had a hint of a smile on his face.  
"Why I believe Pete's back!" Fox yelled, slapping Peter's shoulder.  
"Peter! London's most feared crook!" Curly sneered playfully. Peter didn't bother to hide the sheer pride in his smile.

Jimmy had a certain spark to his eyes when Peter laid his findings out that night.  
_He sees my strength_ now, Peter thought.

His pile of goodies towered over the rest making the other boy's success look like a convenience. Fox even bit his lip when seeing his three bills and a copper watch stand miniscule to Peter's mountain of paper and metal. Fox emptied the goods into their hiding place with frazzled haste, his feathers ruffled.  
"Our secret hiding place is getting full" Connor muttered. They had filled 4 of the 6 drawers of the desk. It was now, swiped clear of dust from their frantic opening and closing, making it look fresh and recently touched.

"I'll be taking everything to the bank and markets tomorrow so will have some room on Sunday afternoon when Locks is asleep" Jimmy answered.

"Are we going to keep her in the dark forever?" Tootles sighed.  
Curly nodded along with him, "Yeah, she's had her share in living in fear. Why, it's possible she has stolen before!"

Brady's eyes were swimming with his child-like guilt, "We are her family. She should love us no matte what".

"She shouldn't have too" Peter answered for Jimmy in his commander voice, "Yes, she isn't alone anymore, and she is a part of our family. This is the best way to take care of her, so we do it to keep her safe. If she finds out and leaves, she will put herself in worse danger".

"I don't know if you've noticed yet, but Locks is not as weak as you think, Pete" Fox said slowly, afraid of getting his temper flaring.  
Brady smiled, "Yes, she's tough enough to take you on Peter!"

Jimmy rolled his eyes, "We will tell her if she asks, We won't lie; just withhold the truth, like I taught you boys when we were caught by a priest that one time. Alright?"

Peter frowned, "Fine".

-  
"So how was your day?"  
Peter was perched precariously on top of an old tea cabinet, while Locks was sprawled out on the floor, hunched over her drawling again.  
"It was fine" she answered, "I get so much sleep during the day out of boredom. It is hard for me to fall asleep at night". Guilt stabbed at Peter's stomach.

"Well maybe you could start painting the walls, or make us shoes" he laughed with force, "You know, to stay busy".

She smirked, "Yes, and then I could glue sparkles to Curly's clothes!"

A few moments of silent laughter came between them, and then Locks had to open her mouth and ruin it with a seemingly innocent comment.

"You all are very childlike, you know?" she said with a smile, like it was the most adorable thing. Her tone was slightly condescending, like she was cooing a baby in her arms.

Peter's face hardened immediately.

"I'm not a kid anymore! I'm growing up" he almost yelled at her. Yes, he knew he was immature and could wine like a toddler, but he was sixteen after all. No one wants to be a called a child, especially at his age.

Locks scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion, "It isn't a bad thing to be young, Peter" she murmured, slightly alarmed by his outburst, "In fact sometimes I find that it's the only thing that makes life bearable. The fact that you have a chance to be innocent and laugh all the time keeps you calm for the future".

Peter cruely laughed at her. He hated being young and foolish. If he was older he could have a job and repay Jimmy for all his hospitality and become his business partner. He was the best pick pocket in town, he would be ace with the burglaries. For a moment he even seemed older from the way he was laughing now, like a bitter, lonely old man.

Peter wanted to respond to her with some nasty, sarcastic, rude comment about her child-like smile and wide eyes; but he thought she would take it as a compliment, and Peter always blushed when giving a pretty girl a compliment. He didn't think he could insult her even if he really tried.

So instead, Peter said nothing to Locks for the rest of the night. They simply sketched in peace, listening to London's clock strike the hours and the slurred and sloppy conversations of drunken men on the streets below them.

Locks vowed never to speak of age with Peter again.

Let him grow up_, _she thought._ He will regret it one day when he sees his family grow and change, leaving_ _him behind._

For the first time in their lives the two teenagers speculated about the mystery of immortality.


End file.
